So I’m falling behind on everything. Work. Parenting. Housework.
Although, to be fair, I’m always falling behind on the housework, mostly because I hate doing it so much. I keep dreaming of one day having a maid which leads me to dreaming of having enough money to employ a maid which then leads to me dreaming that hey, if I’ve got enough money to hire a maid I must have enough money to do actual fun stuff. Like pay someone to shave my legs and hire a circus trainer with a pack of elephants who would then come put on a show on my front lawn.
Because who doesn’t want a herd of dancing elephants to call their own?
All of which leads to more day dreaming and less actual house cleaning and well, I’ve gone full circle and it’s all my imaginary maid’s fault.
Which is why even if I had money to hire a maid I’d likely not do it.
Because I’d never get anything done.
And I’d probably end up with a metric shit tonne of elephant poop on my grass and what exactly does one need that much fertilizer for?
My point is, I have been busy.
Busy going to craft shows with my mother and my sister and sometimes my daughter because she likes to join in the adult fun and I’m teaching her how to silently mock what passes as craft show art all the while instilling manners and lessons about making eye contact and never laughing at anyone’s beloved retail items to their faces even if they are the most hideous things you’ve ever seen for the low low price of 19.99, not including tax.
Every year my sister makes me try on this type of hat thingy and every year I want to buy it and every year my mother steals my wallet and tells me I must have more money than brains if I am seriously considering buying it. Which I was. And still am. Next year, I promise.
Craft shows are awesome fun I tell you.
Then there have been the requisite Christmas concerts and pageants that are mandatory for all people who decided it would be a good idea to raise small children for fun. And as my father is learning, after having done his time in the audience of umpteen children’s Christmas concerts, you can never escape the concert hell. Because after your kids are grown then you have to go see their children perform. It’s a vicious unending circle of bad carols, grumpy adults and stupid costumes.
Candy canes. The new devil horns.
Of course, Jumby wasn’t the only one required to wear something stupid this holiday season. His big brother had to get in on the act too. And I’m sure Frac will be thrilled beyond reason to know I’m sharing his holiday pain with y’all.
He is very bitter his sister did not have to wear a dorky costume for her part in the church pageant.
Of course the holiday season means every movement you make, including surreptitiously picking your nose when you think no one is looking, will be well documented by the plethora of iPhones, digital cameras and video cameras everyone seems to carry with them everywhere at this time of year.
Which means if you don’t take the time or spend the money you will have to live forever with those photos of you with your finger up your nose while sporting horrible roots.
And that would be a damn travesty.
The only good roots are the ones you can slice up and put in a stew.
My husband is of course, beyond thrilled to have one more added expense during this time of year. He doesn’t seem to understand that my vanity? It’s priceless.
This is what I think about Scrooge and his budget.
Of course, as my husband likes to constantly tell me, a fool and his money will soon be parted. Or rather a fool and her husband’s hard earned money would be more accurate in this case.
I finally finished all of my Christmas shopping this week. Better late than never. The only thing left uncrossed on my list is the gift for my adorable in-laws who have everything and more. So I lovingly informed my husband that if he wanted his parents to have a Christmas gift from us, he could figure out what to buy them.
Heads up Mom and Dad in-law, since your son is buying your gift you can expect either a can of tuna or a set of steak knives. Since that’s what he’s bought for me Christmases past.
Beggars can’t be choosers, yo.
Of course, purchasing all the gifts is only half of the battle.
One still has to wrap them.
This small mountain of gifts, including the sheepskin rug for Jumbster (it’s okay, he can’t read so I’m pretty sure I’m not spoiling his Christmas by writing this) is currently sitting on my living room floor waiting to be wrapped.
Nixon is scared. And trying to control his urge not to mark his territory on the mountain.
One small problem? How exactly does one wrap a sheep skin rug when one does not have a box big enough to contain it?
First world problems, I have them.
By the time I’m done wrapping all this, I’m going to need one of these:
Single malt whiskey. Where have you been all my life?
Of course, my daughter has musical theatre rehearsal tonight, my son has a basketball game in a different town and my youngest will need me sober enough to push him up our snow covered driveway when he gets off the bus so I’m only going to be dreaming of my whiskey induced happiness instead of actually making it a reality.
In the mean time, the kids and I made y’all a video for Neil Kramer’s Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert!
We sound horrible, but we perform with heart. Or so I like to tell myself.
If you are all in the mood for a little merry holiday spirit, you should wander on over and check out the entire concert. There are some gems of gold over there. Mine, not included.
Now please excuse me. Those presents aren’t going to wrap themselves, no matter how hard I wish they would.